Oracle (7 page)

    
Not
Nephima
though. She leapt straight up, caught hold of an
overhanging tree branch, and swung her legs forward to connect soundly with the
bird’s beak, knocking it sideways into a tree. It fell to the earth in a
crumpled heap.

    
Nephima
dropped to her feet beside Brandon. He grinned at
her. “Impressive. I’m not sure even I could have pulled off such a trick.”

    
“You’re
not an elf.” She drew her katana and strode toward the bird.

    
Brandon
followed, as eager to see what she might do next as he was to get a closer look
at the bird.

    
“What is
it, Reaper?” Selene asked as she and the others gathered in not too close
behind them.

    
“Many
strange beasts reside in this land,” Reaper said. “I do not know all their
names.”

    
One of
the bird’s eyes popped open, prompting a scream from Anastasia, who was
clinging to Simon like a drowning person to a lifeline. “It’s not dead.”

    
“Hello,
there.” Brandon crouched down to look the bird in the eye. Its beak was razor
sharp and could no doubt slice clean through a person. Fascinating. “You’re an
awfully big bird.”

    
“Don’t
talk to it,” Selene snapped. “Kill it and be done. We don’t have time for
standing around.”

    
“Oh, no,
we can’t kill it.” Brandon said, maintaining eye contact with the bird. The
beast gazed back at him with more intelligence than was generally credited to
winged things.

    
“What do
you mean, we can’t kill it?” Selene was giving him one of those looks he
received when he did something other people didn’t understand. Which was rather
often.

    
“We
startled her,” he said, rising. “She’s only protecting her territory like
anybody would do. We can’t kill her for that. Besides, she’s defenseless at the
moment. Killing her would be murder. I’m many things, but a murderer is not
among them.”

    
“Are you
serious?” Selene asked. “You’re an assassin. Killing defenseless people is your
job. Are you telling me you have more consideration for the life of this... creature,
than you do that of a person?”

    
Brandon
grinned. “Yes.”

    
Selene
threw up her hands in disgust. “I give up. Reaper, he’s one of yours. See if
you can talk some sense into him.”

    
Reaper
turned away. “Leave the bird. It hardly matters.”

    
“It
hardly matters?” Selene asked. “What if it comes after us when it recovers?
Reaper!” But he was already moving off down the path.

    
“We
shouldn’t let him get too far ahead,” Simon said. “He’s the only one who knows
his way around this place.”

    
Selene
scowled. “
Nephima
, you kill the bird.”

    
Nephima
slid her katana back into place. “I think we best
leave the bird be.”

    
Brandon
could not have been more pleased. Generally people only sided with him out of
fear, but not
Nephima
. If she was afraid of
anything
it certainly wouldn’t be him. For a moment he wondered if Selene was going
to press the issue. Either because she truly was afraid the bird might attack
again, or because she was a higher power and felt as if she had some authority
over them. But she didn’t. She simply turned and walked away, quickly followed
by Simon, Anastasia, and the taciturn
Lorn
.

    
Once the
others were out of earshot,
Nephima
glanced down at
the bird. “Are you sure about this?”

    
“No,” Brandon
said. “But then, I’m rarely sure about the things I do.” He grinned. “Makes
life so much more exciting.”

CHAPTER
TEN

    
Never in
his life had Ethan ever imagined he would find himself sitting in a tub full of
goat milk. He couldn’t imagine how one could truly clean themselves this way,
but then the wildlings were a rough lot with their hides and tattoos, so he
supposed he should count himself lucky to be able to bathe at all.

    
Not that
Nika
was unpleasant to look at, even with a snake tattooed
on her face. But he dare not pursue her, as he normally would, because of
Jesse. If it came to blows he would, of course, have to kill the man. Which
would make both Kat and Manny extremely upset and no doubt he’d end up having
to kill them too, leaving him to make his way to the temple on his own. Which
wouldn’t be so bad if not for Clarissa.

    
His
companions had no hope of stealing the tablet from her, but perhaps they could
provide enough distraction for him to do so. If it was even worth the trip. No
proof was offered up that the tablet could be used to prevent the Cataclysm.
All he had was rumor.

    
If the
world was about to end then he ought to be laid up in a fancy house somewhere
with a bevy of beauties to attend to his every need, not stuck out here at the
edge of the desert in a tub of tepid milk.

    
“Playing
hero is even more miserable than I imagined,” he muttered to himself. “I’ll be
glad enough when all this is over and I can return to my proper role as a villain.”
Of course, if the realms were all destroyed then he wouldn’t have anyone to
play the villain with.

    
Which was
exactly why he was here in the first place. He liked the lesser realm. Always
had. And he liked humans. They were so much more fun to play with than his
fellow higher powers. It would be a pity to see them all wiped away. It would
make life so boring.

    
If only
he could save the world without getting so dirty. He scooped up two handfuls of
milk and dumped them over the top of his head. It dripped down his cheeks, some
even finding its way into his mouth. Fine wine it was not. He turned his head
to the side and spat, thinking to himself things couldn’t possibly get much
worse.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

    
Anger
boiled inside Richard. He wanted to lash out. To strike something. And so he
backhanded his latest plaything out of the bed. The sound of her hitting the
floor with a small cry didn’t make him feel any better. Not even a romp had
helped to ease the tension he’d felt since discovering Charles had come to the
castle.

    
The girl
tried to crawl away as Richard slid off the bed. He kicked her soundly in the
side and she curled into a ball, pressing her face into the rug. He would have
preferred to aim his blows at his cursed, interfering cousin.

    
Charles
had not yet approached the High Priest nor announced his reasons for coming,
but Richard knew. The man intended to steal the crown.
Richard’s
crown,
which belonged to him by right of birth no matter what his father had believed.
Nobody was going to take that right from him, certainly not Charles
DeHaviland
.
 

    
He was so
close to having everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he
deserved
. A
crown, Anastasia for his own, and at last a chance to repay Charles for humiliating
him. He could not bear to lose it all now when it was almost within his grasp.
Charles was going to try and ruin everything. And he might manage it too.

    
A red
haze descended across Richard’s vision as he stared down at the girl. He bent over
and grasped her long hair, then dragged her into the sitting room. He couldn’t
take out his anger on those who sought to wrong him. Charles. That damnable
Duke. His bitch of a stepmother. But a servant girl made a handy if less
satisfying substitute.

    
Richard
pulled the girl to her feet and punched her in the face. Blood spurted as the
bones in her nose snapped. She screamed, clawing at his wrist. Her nails were
sharp points of pain in his flesh. He slammed her against the wall one, two,
three times, then released her. She crumpled to the floor.

    
It didn’t
help. She wasn’t the one he wanted crying and bleeding and begging him for
mercy. “Get up,” Richard prodded her with his foot. “Get up and get out. You
disgust me.”

    
She only
whimpered. Richard hauled her up by the arm and flung her against the door.
Before she could collapse again, he grasped the back of her neck, opened the
door, and shoved her into the hall. She stumbled into the far wall.

    
Richard
slammed the door shut so he wouldn’t have to hear or look at her any longer. He
paced, clenching and flexing his hands, for how long he wasn’t sure. His mind
was consumed with thoughts of killing Charles. If only he dared.

    
When the
door to his chambers opened unexpectedly, Richard spun around with the full
intention of unleashing his pent up fury on whoever dared to intrude upon his
privacy. But when he saw his sister in the doorway he missed a step.

    
Daniella
pushed the door shut and strode across the room
until they stood only inches apart. “Are you a complete and total idiot?”

    
Richard’s
lips parted but no reply came to mind. So instead he only glared at her as
fiercely as he could manage. But of course she wasn’t intimidated, which only
made him angrier. So angry a throbbing had started up in the back of his head.

    
“Don’t
look at me like that.” She stepped past him into the bedroom. “After what
you’ve done I have a right to ask the question.” When she returned, she was carrying
his robe. “Put this on. Have some decency.”

    
“This is
my own room.” He snatched the robe from her hands. “If I wish to wander about
unclothed, it’s no concern of yours. You should have knocked.”

    
“I should
have knocked? Have you taken complete leave of your senses? What did you think
you were about tossing a naked, bloody girl out of your room with the High
Priest only two halls down?”

    
With a
savage jerk, Richard twisted the belt of the robe around his waist. “What I do
is none of your business.”

    
“It most
certainly is my business when your lack of self control threatens your chance
at the crown,”
Daniella
said. “You will not ruin all
of my hard work now, when we’re so close to victory.”

    
Richard’s
hand curled into a fist. How he longed to hit her in her harpy mouth and prove
she was no different from any other woman.
 

    
Daniella
glanced down at his fist and laughed. “Oh, so you
want to hit
me
now? Go ahead. I’d like to see you win the throne without
my help.”

    
With a
growl, he paced away to face the fireplace. “I don’t want to talk to you right
now.”

    
“This is
about Charles, isn’t it?”

    
“Of
course it’s about Charles! It’s always about Charles.” He grabbed a crystal
vase from the mantle and flung it against the wall speckled with the servant
girl’s blood. “It will always be about Charles so long as he breathes.”

    
Daniella
shook her head. “So he humiliated you once. It was
ages ago. We were children. You need to move on and grow up.”

    
Richard
breathed heavily through his nose.
Daniella
didn’t
understand. She
couldn’t
understand. She was a woman and so knew nothing
of honor and pride. Of how it would be for a man to see his own son covered in
mud and blood and tears. To decide he could never have fathered such a pathetic
weakling. Charles had not only humiliated him on that day, he had taken away
the only thing which can truly matter to a boy. His father’s respect. Charles
had shown as the stronger of the two and from then onward, Robert had treated Richard
as nothing and cast all his favor on another man’s son.

    
“How can
you stand there so calm?” he asked. “You know as well as I why he’s come.”

    
“Of
course. Our dear cousin intends to make an attempt at stealing the crown for
himself. Your own fault for so foolishly demanding Ana’s hand in marriage when
I told you to wait,”
Daniella
said. “But no matter.
I’ll take this matter under my control as I always have.”

    
“What
will you do?” he asked, “Poison him?” The idea of Charles wasting away in agony
as their father had was not displeasing. Of course, he would have preferred to
torture him first by means of Anastasia, but he supposed if he had no other
choice he could manage to put such thoughts of revenge aside.

    
“Of
course not,”
Daniella
said in that infuriatingly
superior tone of hers. “Tongues would wag were he to die as Father did. Already
there are those who suspect his illness was not entirely natural. We shall
perhaps not be so subtle this time.”

    
“A quick
and bloody death then,” Richard smiled. “Not what I had in mind, but I suppose
it will do.”